


The Bzou

by Abby_Ebon



Series: It's Not A Rabbit Hat [75]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abby_Ebon/pseuds/Abby_Ebon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CkyKing's prompt:</p><p>Harry Potter</p><p>Pairing : Harry/Fenrir</p><p>*"Dom!Harry/Fenrir. It's time to switch roles between Little Red and the Big Bad Wolf."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bzou

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CkyKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CkyKing/gifts).



> CkyKing's notes; I really like the idea of physically small Harry dominating Fenrir, the huge 7 feet muscle bound werewolf (in my headcanon). Right, now this is just something to shamelessly fulfill my fetishes so give me the dirtiest, filthiest fic you can write :-D ;-P. I would really like to see BDSM...oh! and a collar and leash.
> 
> (AN: so a little less Little Red and perhaps a bit more Norse (it was the name Fenrir, okay,? and the collar and the leash! and Harry is clearly Tyr and this is a *Tuesday*) but this is probably happens to my brain after years of reading veela/werewolf!sub Harry...be afraid, very very afraid...)

 

Bill Weasley hadn't known one could be a werewolf and not turn into a wolf, that he could give the sickness to others – his scars do not heal, every night they bleed – and in trying to tend them (to him), he had passed it on to Fleur, his wife – to his mother, his father – his brothers – his sister.

(Fenrir knew well what he was doing in hurting Bill as he had, scarring him and not biting him, infecting him – but not giving him the full bite to make him into one of the werewolves.)

It was, on his part, an accident. He did not _mean_ to give his sickness, his disease to others, for it to spread beyond him, to become bigger than him – to touch so many other lives. It is bad enough that those others are all his loved ones – his family, those he cared most in the world for – and who cared most in the world for him.

If it had been just Fleur that would be bad enough - an accident he could never take back or redeem (Fleur does not regret it, she forgives him for it, loves him all the more in spite – or because – of being a werewolf).

When Bill realizes what he has done, it is too late – far too late to change, or save or to salvage, anything. He can do nothing, alone among his family he does not change, and it is _this_ that his family in the end mourns most.

"It's a gift, William. To be what we are, as we are now we are free of the old Blood-Traitor talk, and if we must face new faces full of hate, new words that condemn us, we face them as we always have, as a family." Molly, his mother, consuls him, holds him as his cheeks weep, mingling the sick red blood and tears.

" _He'll_ pay for this." Harry Potter promises softly, catching his eyes, Bill's adopted brother, the Boy Who Lived. Bill knows he means Fenrir, and that Greyback will pay not for giving them the curse his mother calls a gift – but for marking Bill as the only one among them that can not change, the gifter, the changer, not the changed.

Bill alone mourns what his family and friends had been, but – eventually, after Remus joins him with Tonks and is accepted as family among his own family, he stops mourning in what he's done to them – and rejoices, because it _saves_ Fred, his little brother. It makes them quicker both physically and in healing, healthier for after becoming a werewolf they never sicken with anything else again, and of course – stronger.

Harry leads them, in the end, to victory – he wins the wizard's war with its Dark Lord Voldemort who he teaches them all to call by his true name, Tom Riddle. Let him be remembered by his real – and hated – name, the name of his muggle father, the sin of his mother's deed – forcing love where there was none, she who had bore him did not in the end love him enough to give him his own blameless name.

Fenrir is brought before Harry, tied and bound, by his own people, his pack.

(For a long time he is kept like that, at Harry's side, and he never fought his bindings.)

He lost to Harry by siding with Tom Riddle, and this in the eyes of Fenrir's pack makes _him_ subservient to Harry. In the end, Harry Potter keeps his word to Bill. Every day, Harry leads Fenrir on collar and leash to see his pack change day by day because of Harry's family.

Fenrir watches as his fierce pack of lost boys and girls are taken in, one and all, by Molly, and mothered and loved and as the rest of her family is. They love Molly and her family, love Harry as their hero, their leader, and there is not a wizard or witch in the world that would be unwelcome at the Burrow.

"Why do you do this to me?" Fenrir Greyback asks one day, beaten, broken, but not bloodied – never has Harry injured or scarred him.

"You were once my enemy." Harry answers, as he always does. Fenrir does not know what it means, that answer – it is an answer that Harry gives him sometimes despite his asking other questions ("What will you do with me?" and "Why don't you kill me?"). To those questions, his answer is the same.

"If this is how you treat your enemies, your friends and family must hate you." Fenrir knows it isn't true. Harry smiles at his words, small, but distant – he isn't paying attention.

It's his pack – his family which always holds the main part of his attention, so much so that Fenrir wonders if Harry would remember he was here at his side if not for the collar and leash, among his family, they call it Gleipnir. A binding as thin as a silken ribbon, yet it is stronger than any iron chain.

Fenrir, because he is always with Harry, watches his family too. He sees that Molly had Arthur, and Fred has Katie Bell and George has Angelina Johnson, that Bill has Fleur, that Ron has Hermione, that Remus has Tonks and Percy has Audrey, that Charlie has Daphne Greengrass and that by Astoria her younger sister she brings into the family Draco Malfoy.

Of the main family, only Ginny and Gabrielle Delacour are without a male mate (at first, Fenrir jealously thinks that Harry has the both of them, the fiery red head and the lovely fey girl) – but by watching them carefully, Fenrir finds that they do not need another, they have each other. With their mother Molly, Ginny and Gabrielle take the most to teaching his former pack how to truly be a part of _their_ family.

There is a lot for them to learn (and unlearn). That task, Fenrir does not envy being given to them. It is Gabrielle who comes night after night to Harry and tells him how they are doing, as if Harry needs to be _told_ , and can not see with his own eyes. Once, only once, does Fenrir snarl at her with a flash of teeth, barely a warning - and finds himself on his back with Harry's teeth upon his throat and hot breath on his neck.

Gabrielle stares down at them with her pretty face flushed and Fenrir realizes she is looking at Harry in lust, and that although Ginny and she haven't got a male mate it isn't that they don't want one – it is that the one the want is Harry, and Harry doesn't want them.

It makes Fenrir groan beneath Harry, hardening, his own sharp near canine whine echoing shamefully in his ears.

"You are my enemy." Harry hisses against Fenrir's ear, as if he has to remind himself – remind Fenrir of that fact.

"You want me." Fenrir whispers into dark hair. Harry does not deny it.

"Of course he does, to defeat your enemy is to know him, to destroy him utterly and not kill him is to know him utterly, to love him. How could he not want you? Not love you?" Gabrielle's words are matter of fact, but bitter. She goes, leaves them upon soft footsteps and a shadow that walks away and warns others of her family not to go near.

"Is it true?' Fenrir mutters, into that silence, that gap of truth in her leaving them like this. Fenrir could struggle out of Harry's grip, if he wanted to, he is strong and healthy but – he does not want to. He wants Harry, to be his – his enemy – his. In any way he can have him.

"You are mine." Harry claims and Fenrir knows it to be true. He's known it since Gleipnir was slipped about his neck and he didn't try to escape. He couldn't – he wouldn't. Harry pulls upon the silken cord, not tight, but there, and Fenrir can't help but look up at him and offer his neck.

"Yes, yours..." Harry's breath is hot on his neck, his hand slender but strong as it plays with his collar. Fenrir finds himself tied down, the leash he calls Gelgja looped through the lock Gjöll, set in a slab of stone – a bed he can bleed upon called Thviti. Fenrir Greyback knows the old stories of his name sake, and if any wizard or god can claim the name Tyr over him, it is Harry. Only, Fenrir would never bite off Harry's right hand – but to be counted upon by Harry, to be his right hand man – that, Fenrir wants more than anything yet.

Harry ties down Fenrir and Fenrir since he came to be Harry's has worn little more than scruffy and torn blue jeans, faded and old. The fabric of them breathes, is thin, like a second skin. Harry stares down at Fenrir, his body bound and muscled, stretched out underneath the younger werewolf –small and dark, slender is Fenrir's Harry, like a shadow – his shadow. There are days that Fenrir does not know where he starts and where Harry ends, so long has Harry had his leash. Fenrir would never try to run away from his shadow, from being what and who he is. So he is bound before Harry, by Harry, and when Harry sits astride his hips, Fenrir feels the hard length of his penis, and thrusts his pelvis upward, welcomingly urgent.

Harry will be his, will take him, and never leave him - will need him as Fenrir needs him, and never look to another. Not to Gabrielle and not to Ginny.

Harry snarls, wolf like sharp teeth and the black day old scruff lending his features a sharpness that burns Fenrir's blood. With roughly urgent hands, Harry peals off Fenrir's jeans, his second skin, unbuttoning the metal from the loop of fabric that holds it, unzipping him like he is something precious and fragile. Fenrir whines, he can't stand it – he's never been patient and the anticipation is making him writhe underneath his Harry.

"Hurry, Harry, come on." Fenrir urges him onward, and that swiftly the only protection from Harry's green eyes he's permitted himself to have upon his hide is quickly discarded.

It would be too tempting otherwise to always go bare before Harry, to let his Harry's family see him – the enemy, the villain – desperately seeking Harry's touch, subdued and subservient to their hero– everything in Fenrir that is the wolf screams that he is Harry's and it is Harry's right to have him, anytime, anywhere. Fenrir lost to him, lost everything – the pack – his plans – but Harry has him, cares even when he shouldn't.

"Please, Harry, please." Fenrir snaps, when Harry tosses Fenrir's worn jeans out of the way and out of reach, yet Fenrir can't help but catch his breath as Harry pulls off his wool green sweater as if shedding it, Fenrir knows it to be made by Molly Weasley – and he bows out of his own black pants, only to go no further than Fenrir's side.

Harry is young, yes, so young- young enough that there are wizard's who think that Fenrir is taking advantage – but he isn't, and knows it- knows that this is all Harry's own choice, to keep him – to take him.

"What do you want, Fenrir?" Harry touches his jaw, brings Fenrir's golden yellow gaze to Harry's green.

"You, Harry, no one but you…" Fenrir licks at his Harry's chin and neck, offering his own belly, the most tender and sensitive and vulnerable flesh upon him, unprotected. Free for the taking.

Harry bites at his nose and lips, fond and exasperated. Only Fenrir can push him into doing as Fenrir wants – as Harry wants, but would never say… would never admit – except, perhaps – now. Fenrir has never dared ask. At these times it is always Harry doing the asking and Fenrir the answering – or begging, as he desires it.

"Spread your legs." It isn't a request, but Fenrir groans at obeying. It is Harry's choice, when to take, when to mate – but Fenrir wishes he had Harry inside him already, hot and invasive, thrusting and putting Fenrir in his place, underneath Harry, taken care of as only Harry can.

Fenrir was wrong, he thinks, his belly was not the most vulnerable and sensitive place upon him, Harry knows that all too well – knows his body better than Fenrir does.

Harry's tongue is talented upon his ass, playing and probing, slicking Fenrir and making him shake and quiver until he hardly knows what sounds are his own and which might be Harry. He hates and loves that slick heat, how it twitches and twists within him until he's shaking in sweat and panting and whining and begging with his eyes for Harry to finish him, to take care of what is his – what he's won.

Harry never fails to do so, but Fenrir fears the one day when he might, when he will tease and tease and never finish, but take and take until Fenrir can give nothing more. Fenrir fears that Harry will one day be unsatisfied with him, and so when Harry presses the length of his shorter body against Fenrir and rocks against him, hard and panting, but waiting for Fenrir to catch his eye and agree – silently or not ( _Yes, yes, yes, Harry, now Harry, my Harry! Yours, Harry_!) to coupling, Fenrir is awed anew, that he is Harry's in this way, in all ways that matter.

They are mates.

Harry comes into him, sometimes with gentle rocking, sometimes shoving in rough and demanding, and both kinds of lovemaking – fucking – does Fenrir like. He likes it best when Harry spills his seed, his scent, upon Fenrir's belly, marking him by body and smell, in both a wizard and a wolf's way.

After, Harry holds him tight and close and tells him he loves Fenrir as only an enemy's hate can compare.

There are ways, the witches Ginny and Gabrielle tease, afterwards when Fenrir is free of all but Gleipnir's silken grip about his neck, clad in his old jeans and stinking of Harry's seed - to make Fenrir for a year female and fertile, so that Harry's seed within him quickens when they breed. It is something Fenrir will think long about, for if he really wants it – to be a part of Harry's family in a way none of them could deny, Harry would not say no.

That summer, Bill's daughter Victoire is born with none among them to truly know how to help Fleur in the birthing but Fenrir – she is born not being a werewolf, it is their families blessing, for her to either chose the gift or not, but in his daughter's birth Bill forgives Fenrir his own curse of gifting.

Fenrir tells him he thinks her well named. Fleur's smile, shared with Harry, tells him it was their idea.


End file.
